


an ordinary, boring, usual day at work

by Voidromeda



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Gen, Stream of Consciousness, Surreal, experimental fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-09 21:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20516951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidromeda/pseuds/Voidromeda
Summary: Abel has boring days at work. Nothing out of the usual.





	1. Chapter 1

Work today is the same. Tedious, boring, but meaningful. The bright, blue screen of the ship’s computers burn deep into Abel’s eyes, and he often finds himself rubbing at them to try and force himself awake. Sleep drags at his bones. Fatigue lounges atop his brain as a cat is wont to do then later slithers in to slow his controls. A snake with a cat’s head, unappealing to the mind and health.

The door slides open, loud and booming. He looks over his shoulder to see Cook, with eyes hidden behind reflections of nothing and lips a smear on his face. Warbled, he says, “you are dismissed, Abel. Go to your bunk.”


	2. Chapter 2

Keeler doesn’t let him work as much today. Cockroaches crawl under his skin and he scratches and itches himself, fingers unable to tear through his navigator uniform, and his leg bounces underneath the mess hall’s table. Cain looks to beeline towards him but Encke grabs him by the elbow and forces him still. Ethos is to Abel’s left; to his right, void.

“Perhaps we’re Colterons,” Ethos says jovially – he throws his fork at the ceiling, no one cares, “perhaps we’re not you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Cain’s eyes are so dark. He finds a beauty in them, like he finds beauty in a bottomless pit and the vastness of space in the absence of stars. The sun explodes and Cain barely looks at it. He grins and waves his cigarette out towards the explosion as it grows wider and wider and wider and engulfs them whole. Abel sinks his hairs in ash and begs, “please don’t go.”

He looks at him with his charred face and says, “go to work.”


	4. Chapter 4

The entire expanse of Deimos’ back is covered in large gashes, scabs forming only to meld together and then melt in long, rivulets of blood. His uniform drips with it. Abel touches his back once and then goes back to typing, smears blood wherever he touches, and Keeler absentmindedly licks at the blood on his own fingers.

“It’s a shame we’re not you,” Keeler says. He peels one of his fingernails off and drops it on the floor. There are no other navigators around. “It’s a shame you’re you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Today is a normal day at Abel’s work.


	6. Chapter 6

If Abel closes his eyes long enough then he can see something slithering on the dashboard, lines of non-sense code written by someone drunk who has never seen any coding language before in their entire life. He sees them painting the back of his eyelids.

Porthos, in an unwanted display, gives him a cup of coffee. It’s not as sugary as he wants it to be.

“There’s no point.” Porthos tells him. He coughs into his palm and then flinches. His stomach gurgles unpleasantly. “There’s no point to sleeping on the job.”


	7. Chapter 7

Ethos works tirelessly but doesn’t tire out. Ethos sits and translates lines upon lines of extra-terrestrial language that Abel won’t pretend he understands. Ethos opens his mouth and shapes and symbols fall out and land on the floor instead of words and sentences drifting up into their limited oxygen. He laughs with cracks in his teeth and Abel blinks to see Ethos staring at him completely blankly.

Black smudge spreads on Abel’s chair. His coffee cup is mostly empty. Ethos shakes his head and he sees bits and pieces of his brilliance fly out his ears and land on dirt.

“What does Keeler see in you?” Phobos’ says through Ethos’ mouth. Abel drops his mug and it shatters all over. “I don’t get you.”

He cuts his hand as he picks the pieces up. When he looks up, Ethos is asleep and Phobos is staring off into the distance. His hands are bleeding.


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m tired,” Abel exhales out, fog rolling from his tongue and out his frail throat, “I’m tired.” Cain breathes fire out into the air. Athos reaches out and places his icy hand on the back of Abel’s neck, leaving behind marks with each line of his palm.

“Must be hard work, huh?” Athos says apologetically, “you navigators do way too much. Maybe you should take a break? Phobos always says you’re so busy showing off. You should have your own holiday.”

Abel closes his eyes.

“Will I wake up?” Abel asks. The fog turns to smog.

Gently, sweetly, Athos strokes the back of his neck, plays with the small, coarse hairs and then strokes upwards. His voice is sweet, lovely, caring. “I’m sorry.” he says with a smile on his face.

“You won’t.”


End file.
